It's Over Now
by strawberry.ragdoll
Summary: A mighty pain to love it is, and 'tis a pain that pain to miss; but of all the pains, the greatest pain is to love, but love in vain.


_spoilers up to the end of the second season. I do not own Supernatural or anything affiliated, except this story. The quote from the summary is by Abraham Crowley.  
_

_a/n: First Supernatural story. Constructive criticism is so very very welcome! I want to write more, but I need to know how I'm doing._

**You'll be the death of me**. When you love someone enough, you know this is true about them. There is nothing else in the world that could hurt you as much as they can, as much as they will. Whether it's meant literally or figuratively is a different matter.

The first time Dean thought this, he was nine and Sammy was five. Sam had only just started school, and it was the first day that they had to get ready without their father fussing over their shoulders.

Sammy's teeth were barely brushed. Though he got agitated, Dean forced him to brush his teeth again multiple times until they were satisfactorily clean. Dean then impatiently grabbed his brother's glass of orange juice amidst whining until all toothpaste was rinsed from his mouth. Sam clothed himself–no help required there–and as they both emerged, dressed, Dean marveled at his brother's maturity while Sam sighed at his brother's mismatched socks. Dean put on his boots first, aware of Sam's careful eyes studying his movements. Though Sam huffed and insisted he wanted to learn how to tie his own shoes, Dean leaned over and did the task for him, thinking that he isn't quite ready for Sam to do it on his own.

Before leaving the motel room, while Dean was making sure that the room key was in his pocket, Sam turned back. Dean was struck by how tiny he looked in the door frame, how small his hands were as they clutched his backpack. Sam's voice was calm and steady, both grudging and sincere as he said, "Thank you, Dean," before scampering out the door.

Though his heart caught in his throat, he managed to say, "Anytime, Sammy," with few difficulties.

**:::**

The second time he thought this, Sam was fourteen and in puppy love with the prettiest girl in their two-week school. Marissa was smart, fun, well-behaved, and two years older than him. This meant two things, of course: she was three years too old for him in high school terms, and she was interested in a boy twice as tall as Sam and half as smart. The only thing in this situation that Sam could be grateful for was his brother's lack of a presence in the love triangle.

Sam's speciality was brooding and/or moping. This had started at the age of ten, and over the course of four years, he had perfected the art of staring out of a window moodily. No matter what Dean said, whether it be mean, stupid, or half-assedly kind, Sam would still look stone cold. For a reason Dean couldn't quite place, this made his ribcage ache a little. His little brother's sour mood kept on for the entire trip, until the end of it when he still hadn't told Marissa anything. When she heard he was leaving, she smiled and patted him on the head, saying that she was glad they had met and she was happy to be such good friends.

As one could imagine, this did nothing to help his mood. They drove away in the Impala, Dean trying his best at nonchalance while trying to sneak peeks at his brother's pouting face.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean started, turning around. He stopped what he was saying immediately. "...Is that a diary?"

"Shut up." Sam was obviously too tired to fight.

"Come on, Sammy, why'd you get a diary when you have your dear old brother here?" Dean leaned over the back seat with a cheeky grin, trying to catch a glimpse of his brother's thoughts. Knowing exactly what his brother was doing, he slammed it shut. "It's a _journal_, Dean."

"It's your feelings in a book, Sammy, there ain't much difference."

Sam put on his signature annoyed face and shifted, turning away from him. "Shut up," he repeated, closing his eyes and resting his face against the black leather interior.

Once he was sure Sammy was asleep, and while his dad was sufficiently distracted with the road, Dean reached to the back seat and very carefully removed the small journal from beside his younger brother. Mostly it was a detailed schedule of homework, assignments that should be handed in, and tedious recounts of his day. Flipping through, however, he halted at the mention of his name.

_...Dean. He's been even more annoying than ususal lately. Every time I get to thinking, he jumps into my train of thought and starts babbling away._

_Thanks to him, I haven't had time to think about Marissa. I don't know what I'd do without him..._

Dean's face flushed slightly as he looked back at his little brother's sleeping form. His hands were folded on his lap, mouth closed, eyelashes brushing his cheeks just slightly. Heart pounding, Dean set his brother's journal back in its rightful place.

**:::**

The last time Dean thought this, hell hounds were clawing at his chest. His brother was being held by Lilith. Even in pain, even terrified, he couldn't help but wonder at how his Sam's face looked oddly perfect to him. Especially in moments like this, his emotions came out as remarkably pure and innocent. Maybe, just once, he should have told Sam that he loved him, Dean thought as his blood poured out. That there was nothing and no one who made him as happy as little Sammy... but he never told him. He was too weak to chuckle at this. Chances were, if he could do it all again, he still wouldn't tell him.

All the same, he died with a grin on his face.

Dean was still dying in Sam's place. A year alive with the rest of eternity in hell while his brother got to walk free – hardly a fair trade. But he had always known his brother would be the death of him, and that was enough to make him smile.

_a/n: let me repeat, concrit is loved! please review._


End file.
